


Hooded

by SpaceCadetGlow



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, BDSM, Breathplay, Costume Kink, M/M, Oral Sex, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 11:16:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4664553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceCadetGlow/pseuds/SpaceCadetGlow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eddie finds one of Hooded Justice's old costumes and torments Nelson with it for years.  Eventually, lonely and despondent, Nelson gives in to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hooded

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for the Watchmen kinkmeme 7, which you can find here: http://watchmen-km.dreamwidth.org/287.html. If you enjoy this story, please leave a comment and let me know. Feedback makes my day!

**1947**

“Well, would ya look at that! Fits like a glove!” 

Nelson’s chest tightens. It looks like HJ, it’s HJ’s costume, but between the voice and the faint cigar-smoke scent, he knows exactly who’s under that hood.

“Edward Blake, what the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?” 

Blake pulls off the hood with a chuckle. “I found this in his office. He should be more careful with his things,” he leers. “What, you never played dress-up? Not even as a little kid? Bet you tried on your mama’s clothes at least once.”

He shouldn’t be here. _He shouldn’t be here._ Nelson isn’t sure if it’s a good or bad thing that they are alone in the building. At least he can’t hurt anyone else if they’re not here. “You need to go,” he says firmly, standing up from his desk.

“Let me just ask you a question, Nelly,” Blake says, spreading his hands — HJ’s gloves — wide. “Hypothetically. If you were being cheated on, would you want to know?”

Nelson steps around his desk, narrowed eyes meeting Blake’s dead-on. “What?”

“For example, if you were to find out that your, uh, _partner_ doesn’t come back to you at night because he’s buying boys on the docks, would you be glad to know, or wish you didn’t? I’m asking for a friend.” Blake grins at him, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not sure what your point is,” says Nelson. Blake isn’t telling him anything he doesn’t already know. (For what it’s worth, he wishes he didn’t.) What’s his angle?

“He’s not half as smart as he thinks.” He’s still smiling, but his voice turns low and sinister as he steps closer to Nelson. “It’s going to get him into trouble one of these days.” 

_Oh my God,_ Nelson thinks. _He wants me to know he’s been following him._

With one more step, Blake closes the distance between them. They’re chest-to-chest, almost touching, and Nelson’s heart is pounding in his throat, but he won’t back down. He won’t let Blake know he’s afraid. 

“Is that a threat?” he asks. 

Blake just looms over him, only a few inches taller but seeming much bigger. He grabs Nelson’s jaw and inspects his face, and the grip of the leather glove is all too familiar. He finds what he’s looking for: the yellowing ghost of a bruise on his right cheekbone, and cracks a crooked smile. “You old perverts, you fuckin’ kill me.” And he lets go, and steps away.

Nelson shudders.

“I think I’m gonna keep this,” Blake announces as he walks out of the office. “I think purple’s my color.” 

 

**1953**

It’s been one year since Nelson sat in front of a HUAC panel, took off his mask, and signed a loyalty oath to the United States of America. One year since HJ vanished rather than be unmasked. Nelson wishes he had gotten to say goodbye.

Blake’s voice crackles through Nelson’s living room telephone. “Happy anniversary, Nelly!” he says cheerfully.

“I’m hanging up on you,” Nelson says, and intends to do just that. But he doesn’t.

“Aww, don’t be like that, blondie. I just figured you’d be celebrating a year of being a confirmed loyal citizen of the good old USA. You know, I told them they had nothing to worry about with you. You’re a Marine, for Chrissakes! And it’s not like being a faggot magically makes you a Commie too.” He laughs boisterously at his own joke. “I already— I mean, _they_ already knew everything they needed to about you.”

“We knew you were part of it,” Nelson says flatly.

“Of course you did!” Blake says. “Just ‘cause you’re a bunch of morons doesn’t mean you’re _dumb_.”

It’s late and Nelson is tired. “Why are you _really_ calling me?”

There’s a pause. “I still have that costume, you know.”

Nelson’s lip curls. “So?”

“He never came back. I bet you thought maybe he would lay low for a while and then come back home so you could have your happily ever after. Right?”

Nelson doesn’t answer. In his mind he knew HJ was gone for good, but a slim tendril of hope had always been wrapped around his heart.

“I’m wearing it right now, Nelly.” He’s never heard Blake’s voice sound quite like that. It makes him feel sick. It makes him want to listen more. It makes him hate himself for not hanging up already. “I’m wearing it all. Do you want to see me in it?”

Blinking back tears, Nelson hangs up the phone and goes to bed.

 

**1956**

Nelson has experienced a lot of hurt in his life, but grieving alone has been the most painful yet.

A small box appears innocuously at his front door. Inside is one worn purple glove, wrapped in white tissue paper, and a note that reads: _A memento. You say the word._

Nelson slips the glove on and buries his face in his hand.

 

**1962**

“Saw you on TV last night,” the Comedian drawls, startling Captain Metropolis as he patrols Hell’s Kitchen. Blake is leaning against a building, looking calm as you please, but something isn’t right with him. Instead of his usual arrogant ease, there’s a tension in his face, a slight uncertainty in his body language that Nelson doesn’t recognize. 

“What? Oh, the five-second interview about Doctor Manhattan? It was ridiculous.”

“The boys down in D.C. asked me to make a statement, too.”

“Which was?”

Blake shrugs. “I told ‘em to scram. But the publicity folks put some _real_ pretty words in my mouth for the papers.”

Nelson nods. “Did you want something?”

“I’ll walk with you,” Blake says, and they take off down the street together. 

“What brings you to New York?” Nelson asks, wondering not for the first time why he’s even speaking with the man.

“Had to get out of Washington. It’s a clusterfuck down there. Everyone’s running around like a bunch of headless chickens trying to figure out what Doctor Manhattan means. And everybody’s got their own spin on it.” Blake shakes his head. “You know what I think he means?”

“No.”

“Humans are fuckin’ obsolete,” he says darkly. “As if all of this shit wasn’t meaningless enough, now we’re just yesterday’s news.” 

Nelson stops walking. “So you came here. And tracked _me_ down, of all people.”

Blake turns to face him. “Because you’re part of the old crowd. These kids today, the fuckin’ hippies, they think Manhattan is the future. Clean energy and astral planes and shit. They don’t know how the world is.” He pauses, takes Nelson’s stunned silence as a need for clarification. “It’s fuckin’ _cruel_ , Nelly. You know that.” Blake starts patting his pockets as though he’s looking for something. “Hang on a sec,” he says, and he stalks toward a 24-hour convenience store a few paces away. 

Nelson just waits there, brushing imaginary dust off the front of his costume, not sure what else to do or what to think. Blake has never spoken to him as a peer, or with anything even remotely resembling sincerity. 

Blake returns moments later, carrying a brand-new notepad and a box of pencils that Nelson is fairly certain he didn’t pay for. He takes a pencil, scribbles something on the notepad, and tears the first sheet off. “Here,” he says, thrusting the paper at Nelson. “Don’t lose this, it’s a secure line.” 

Nelson takes the paper, and seeing that he’s not going to immediately crumple it or toss it away, Blake nods. 

“See ya, blondie.” He stalks off down the street, not looking back, a predator on the streets of New York. 

Nelson looks down. It’s a telephone number.

He places it in his pocket.

 

**1966**

Nelson stands alone.

The meeting had been a failure and an embarrassment. Even those who had shown interest in his idea didn’t think it was worth a try. And now they were all gone. He’s never felt so old, so irrelevant. He goes to bed, and his dreams are filled with smoke.

He sleeps in, because getting out of bed doesn’t seem worth it. When he finally wakes up he sits at his kitchen table and thinks for a very long time. And when the sky grows dark, he knocks back two drinks and picks up the phone. When he gives his name, Blake’s handlers in Washington are happy to give him the number for Blake’s hotel in New York. 

“Yeah?” Blake answers.

“Now. Tonight.”

“That you, Nelly?” 

“Do you have it?”

Blake’s voice grows deadly serious. “Of course I have it. Tonight?”

“Come to my place at ten. I’ll leave the door unlocked. I’ll be waiting upstairs.”

“You got it, sugar. I know what you need.”

“And don’t talk while you’re here. I want it to feel real.”

“Not a damn word.”

Nelson spends the rest of his evening working his way through a bottle of gin, and at a quarter to ten he goes upstairs, lies on the bed, and waits, turning one purple glove over in his hands again and again.

At ten o’clock, Hooded Justice throws the bedroom door open, and with his mind clouded by liquor, it’s easy to pretend it’s the real thing. 

Nelson sits up and wordlessly offers HJ his right glove. HJ puts the glove on, flexes his fingers in it, and without warning he backhands Nelson across the face. Nelson exhales sharply so he can take the pain, just like he always used to, then draws a shuddering breath and looks up at HJ with blank, tired eyes. _Is that the best you can do?_ He hits him again, the same way, and this time it’s better, the fresh pain compounding on top of the dull. 

HJ caresses the damaged cheek for a moment, as if to check that he hasn’t damaged his toy too much, noting where the skin has split in an angry red line. Nelson reaches up to touch HJ’s broad chest, like he needs to make sure he’s real. But Nelson hadn’t asked permission to do that. HJ knocks his hand out of the way, shoves him back onto the bed, and crawls on top of him. The larger man’s weight pressing down on him is a comfort, an anchor. 

His shirt is ripped open, at least one button sent rolling across the bedroom floor, and Nelson arches up toward HJ needfully, desperate to feel hands on his bare skin. HJ moves his palms flat across Nelson’s chest, sizing him up. The leather is smooth and warm, just like he remembers. Nelson closes his eyes, then squeezes them shut and opens his mouth silently as those gloved fingers begin to pinch at his nipples. There’s nothing teasing about it, but it makes Nelson want more. He moans softly as HJ twists and pulls at the sensitive spots, first pinching down hard and then rolling the pain away until his whole chest is flushed and tingling with sensation. 

When one hand moves to his throat, Nelson lifts his chin so HJ can fit his whole massive hand there and press down. If he wasn’t rock-hard already, he is now, pinned and squirming and helpless beneath his lover. As his vision starts to blur, he is dimly aware that HJ’s other hand is now moving down the front of his leggings, stretching the fabric down and pulling himself free.

Nelson gulps down air as the hand leaves his neck and grabs him by the hair instead. He is dragged up toward the headboard, his head propped up on a pillow, and HJ straddles his chest, pinning Nelson’s arms beneath his legs, his thick, dark erection rising in front of Nelson’s face. HJ still has one hand knotted in Nelson’s hair, but the other wraps around the shaft and directs it toward Nelson’s mouth.

Hungrily, he takes in as much as he can, his hands opening and closing helplessly at his sides. HJ starts thrusting shallowly until he bumps up against the back of Nelson’s throat, and then he presses in. Filled up all the way, tears start springing to Nelson’s eyes. He’s _big_ , so big that his lips are straining to wrap completely around the base and his throat feels stretched and abused. HJ lets him choke on it for a few seconds longer before moving out and in, again and again, letting Nelson savor it every time the thick head pushes into his throat. When HJ speeds up his pace, his breathing growing more ragged, Nelson whimpers around him and tries to reach down to touch himself through his clothes, but he’s stuck beneath HJ’s weight. 

HJ pulls out, and Nelson hates the absence, the way he suddenly feels so empty. And then they’re back where they were before, with one hand gripping Nelson’s throat and the other wrapped around HJ’s cock. He isn’t choking him as hard now, and Nelson realizes it’s because he wants him to be able to see what’s happening. Mesmerized, Nelson watches HJ pleasure himself, thrusting into his own hand, until he lets out a low growl and comes onto Nelson’s face. 

Covered in wet heat, Nelson’s face burns with shame as he tastes as much of it as he can reach with his tongue. He’s overwhelmed, he wants to come and he wants to curl in on himself, and he can’t do either with HJ still on top of him. HJ’s thumb smears some more of the mess across Nelson’s lips and into his mouth. Nelson hopes it isn’t over. 

As if reading his mind, HJ moves swiftly back and removes Nelson’s good leather belt from his pants. He easily flips Nelson onto his stomach, then pulls his pants and underwear off. Hands pressing at his hips indicate that he wants Nelson on all fours. He’s quick to obey. Now freed from his clothes, his cock stands thick and aching for touch, brushing up against his stomach.

HJ palms his bare ass, squeezing and assessing what he sees. Nelson hears the soft slide of the belt as HJ wraps one end of it around his hand, and then it hits with a cracking sound. Nelson gasps as each blow lands. HJ changes his pace and level of force so Nelson never knows when the next one is coming, or how much it will hurt. He begins to tremble, his arms starting to tire, so he sinks down onto his elbows and spreads his legs wider. HJ, thank God, doesn’t take this as a sign to let up. The blows become even more cruel, pain now blossoming on his vulnerable inner thighs and the soft skin exposed between his cheeks. The next strike lands with singular accuracy, right at his hole, and Nelson sobs at the sudden sting. HJ does it there again, just to show that he can, no doubt taking pleasure in the pathetic sounds he’s ripping from Nelson’s throat. Desperately, Nelson raises his hips, shoving his ass back, hoping for more. 

Once again, thick, strong fingers are groping at his now tender flesh. “Please,” Nelson whispers, more to himself than to HJ. “Pleasepleaseplease…” 

There’s a fumbling behind him, and then bare, wet fingers are brushing up against him. Two fingers roughly push into him. Nelson greedily moves back onto them, impaling himself on HJ’s hand, pushing them in deeper. Nelson hasn’t done this in a while, but HJ knows he can take it, knows he likes the invasion and the ache and the stretch, so he opens him up wider, squeezing a third finger in. Nelson hisses and exhales and relaxes and whimpers. HJ’s other hand moves between Nelson’s legs and cups his balls, closing his hand around them with just enough pressure to send a clear message: _You’re mine._

As HJ does so, his fingers press against a spot inside that makes Nelson see stars and makes his cock jolt. He doesn’t need to be touched to stay hard, the submission and shame and pain that HJ has been dealing out work just as well. He doesn’t even need to be touched to come, but he knows that if he comes too soon, HJ will be angry with him. He’s been hard for so long, now so swollen and oversensitive that practically anything could send him over the edge. Nelson rocks his hips back, seeing stars again, and every time he does that his cock rubs against his stomach, causing him to cry out hoarsely. 

“I can’t—“ he gasps. “I need— oh my God, please, please, Rolf, now…”

HJ makes a sound of gratification. He must be ready to go again, because he removes his fingers and drags the blunt, hot head of his cock all the way down to Nelson’s entrance, and pushes just that much inside. He’s not going to make this easy for Nelson either; his wet fingers are gripping Nelson’s hips, preventing him from moving forward or back. HJ rocks the head in and out slightly, never pulling all the way out, but never going any further in. The anticipation of being taken all the way is making him pant and shake and tremble. The way his hole stretches so tight to fit around the thick head and then closes behind it is almost enough to break him. 

And then HJ pulls him by the hips, sheathing himself inside of Nelson like a knife sinking into flesh. Nelson lets out a strangled cry, and the next time he tries to inhale, his breath catches, and his shoulders start to shake. HJ shoves him forward, a hand pressing forcefully between his shoulder blades so Nelson’s face is pushed into the mattress. He increases the pace, fucking Nelson with hard, swift thrusts that feel like they’re going to split him in half. Nelson buries his face and lifts his ass and heaves the air in and out of his lungs. His entire body is trembling now. His face feels strange — hot with humiliation, and dirty with HJ’s cum, but now also wet with tears. 

HJ continues to pound into him, both the hammer and the nail, and Nelson breaks down and sobs into the mattress in low, heaving cries that were a long time coming. HJ growls at this and finally reaches around to take Nelson in his hand. As he starts to pump Nelson’s cock, he changes the angle inside him to somehow fuck him even deeper. Through his haze of tears and liquor and shame, Nelson feels HJ’s hand around him and for a minute, that’s all there is. Heat grows low in his belly as HJ’s strong hand and big cock pleasure him at once. With a roaring in his ears and a deep, shaking shudder, Nelson comes. 

HJ takes a while longer to finish. Nelson lets him do what he wants, and tries to keep from shaking too much while the tears form a large wet spot on the sheets. As HJ comes for the second time that night, Nelson closes his eyes and wonders why he had to be born so screwed up. 

He collapses as soon as he pulls out of Nelson, half next to him and half on top of him, one arm still locked around Nelson’s waist. Nelson is still quivering, still teary, but he clenches his jaw and steels himself for whatever mockery Blake has on the tip of his tongue. He’s already humiliated himself plenty tonight, what’s a little more? 

But nothing happens. Blake’s heavy breathing slows, and eventually Nelson’s own shaky breaths fall into the same rhythm, until he just feels empty. 

“You should go,” Nelson says softly, when he trusts himself to speak.

Blake’s hand pulls at his hip so he rolls onto his back. The hood looks back at Nelson quizzically. 

Nelson can’t meet his eyes. “It’s over. You don’t have to keep up this stupid pretense.”

“Nelly, that was fuckin’ intense,” Blake says hoarsely. He starts to loosen the noose around his neck.

“No, leave it,” Nelson says before he can remove the hood. “Please, just go. I can’t do this anymore.” 

Blake looks at him for a long moment. “Okay,” he finally says. He stands up, straightens the costume, and is gone.

 

**1970**

The final time he and Blake speak about it, it’s at Nelson’s front door.

“Hey, Nelly,” Blake says. He’s wearing jeans and a leather jacket and is holding a paper shopping bag in one hand.

“Eddie.” Nelson doesn’t invite him in. 

“I, uh… Look, they’re sending me over to ‘Nam. Shit’s really hitting the fan over there.”

“I see.”

“Rumor is that Nixon wants Manhattan to intervene. But you can’t just draft God, you know?” Blake laughs humorlessly. “So I’m hoping I can take care of things over there before they manage to convince him.”

“Good luck,” says Nelson.

“Yeah, it’s gonna be a swell time.” Blake flashes his teeth. “Anyhow, I figured you should have this back.” He hands over the paper bag. “It’s all in there. Had it cleaned and everything. Thought you oughta have it.” 

Nelson doesn’t look inside. He doesn’t need to. “Thank you, Eddie.” 

“Don’t mention it.” Blake looks around for a moment like he’s not sure what to say. “Well, better get going before Uncle Sam sends somebody looking for me. They like to keep the reins tight,” he says sardonically. “If you see any black helicopters, just wave at ‘em.”

Nelson tries to smile. He doesn’t know what to say either, so he says again, “Good luck out there.”

“Yeah. Thanks. You take care of yourself,” says Blake. “Be seein’ you.” 

“Be seeing you,” Nelson echoes. 

He does not watch the man who killed his lover walk away.


End file.
